When I was a kid, my little sister embarrassed the living hell out of me.
Now, I know it was because she was everything I wasn’t.
When I was sitting quietly in a corner, hoping no one would notice me, she was hugging strangers, laughing at full volume. Where I would assume my questions were stupid, and leave them unasked, she would demand answers. (When a lawyer was the guest speaker at one of our 4-H meetings, and he was answering questions about dry shit like contracts and land titles, my 7 year old sister posed the following question: “So, let’s say a guy commits a murder, but he has a twin. And somebody thinks they saw him do it, but it was really his brother. What then?”)
Mostly, where I assumed I wasn’t good enough, that no one would like me, she couldn’t fathom the concept that anyone wouldn’t love her.
My sister has a baby.
As she puts it, “12 lbs, 6 oz of charm!” Baby girl is only 2 months old.
And when she enters a room, is carried through a building?
Baby girl smiles. A lot. You will love her.
And how could you not?
Every time I look at her, hear about her efforts to win over entire cities, it makes me think of the last couple of lines of “And I Am Telling You”, by Effie, in Dreamgirls.
“And you. And you. And you. You’re gonna looooooove me!”
(But without all the desperation, unplanned pregnancy and general angst.)